


Things Unsaid

by Sherlock1110



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Concerned Sherlock, Fluff, Gen, Protective Big Brother Mycroft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 16:20:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9393395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlock1110/pseuds/Sherlock1110
Summary: Another missing sceneS4e3 - what happened between Sherlock saving John and Mycroft informing his parents of Eurus' survival ?Sherlock feels the need to offer his brother some comfort… it's not something he's adept at doing.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Beta read by Sherlockian4evr

Mycroft glanced up tiredly at a knock on the door. He had only been staring absently at the brandy in his glass that he had been swirling around.

"Come in."

He was almost surprised to see his brother walk in, his hands in his coat pockets.

"You knocked?"

Sherlock shrugged, looking the older man up and down, deducing.

"Don't rub it in, Sherlock."

"I didn't say anything."

"You were about to." He downed the contents of his glass and poured himself some more.

"Do you really think that's a good idea?"

"Says the addict."

"I'm not an addict." Sherlock huffed, slipping out of his coat and throwing it over a nearby chair. Then he settled in front of his brother's desk.

"What do you want, Sherlock? I'm not in the mood for games."

The detective sighed softly, leaning forward. "I came to… to check up on you."

"Well… I'm fine." He watched his brother for a moment, confused, it wasn't a feeling up until a week ago that he was used to.

"You don't look fine. Mummy says you won't speak to them."

Mycroft looked away from Sherlock and moved his attention to the glass in his hand, watching the dark liquid swirl around.

"Why do you care? You should be delighted."

"Of course I care. Mycroft…"

"If you're quite done, little brother, I have things to do."

"No, you don't. You haven't left this room for 3 days."

"It's my… prison."

"Mycroft."

"No! Mummy was right! I locked up my little sister - our little sister. Why aren't you mad at me?"

"You say you have a small heart… you don't."

"I know, it wasn't an insult."

"That's not what I meant! Will you stop moping around and actually deduce my intentions here?"

"Where have our deductions ever got us, Sherlock? Nowhere. Now why aren't you mad at me?"

"You did your best."

"Wasn't good enough, was it?"

"Well what was the alternative, Mycroft?!" Sherlock yelled, getting to his feet. "Kill her? That would have been easier, I would never have known. I would never have found out the truth and all would be well. You kept her alive, knowing full well that one day I might remember, remember and hate you for it and yet you did it anyway."

"You hate me anyway."

"Stop it! Just - just stop it!"

"Why?"

"You would have let me shoot you. That's why."

Mycroft inclined his head not replying - not knowing how to reply.

"You knew from the moment I picked up that gun that I would have to shoot you."

"Sherlock-"

"No. No! You always think of me as the slow one, you're wrong. I'm the only person who understands you. The way you 'refused to be manipulated' 'refused to help me at all', it was bollocks and it was all an act. The moment the governor shot himself in the head you knew what would come next."

Mycroft sighed and ducked his head, letting go of the glass for the first time in a long while.

"You tried to make it easy for me. Easy for me to kill you. Why?"

"Because killing John Watson would kill _you_."

Sherlock walked around the desk and leant back against it so he was stood beside his brother.

"After our visit to Sherrinford and the carnage of Magnussen… Don't you _dare_ say you don't care. You got this job _because_ you care. Now are you done with feeling sorry for yourself?"

Mycroft glanced up at his younger brother and in that moment at the concerned look on his face, he broke down.

He felt himself lose it - he felt himself break down into millions of pieces.

Sherlock took a small step forward and he suddenly latched onto his waist, holding tightly.

Not as shocked as he perhaps should have been, the younger man wrapped one arm around his shoulders and the other rested in his thinning hair.

"You're the second person in a matter of hours that I've hugged."

Mycroft glanced up him, with a never-seen-before tear stained face, but he refused to let go.

"John… he's… well, he says 'his head is all over the place' at the moment."

"You two are good for each other."

"Yes, Mycroft, we are. But that does not mean I don't care about you and I've never said it before, but I do. After what happened with Eurus… I do even more now. We just can't let go of each other, Mycroft. And that means facing the wrath of our parents."

"No."

"I'll be there. They'd best hear it from you, because I'm sure John's working on his blog as we speak."

Mycroft let go of his brother, straightening up in his chair. "Your bloody blogger with his bloody blog." He was begining to blush red with shame at his show of emotion.

"It's alright," Sherlock assured him, but he stepped back away to a distance they were both more comfortable with.

The government official got to his feet, redid up his top button and straightened his tie - Sherlock had the horrible memory of that day in Sherrinford and he had to turn away.

He walked across the room and grabbed his coat just as Mycroft slipped into his jacket. "You know… I'm going grey, Mycroft."

Mycroft glanced across the room at him as he slipped the bottle of brandy back into the cupboard. "How fitting."

Sherlock chuckled at that. "Quite."


End file.
